


No Worries, We Have Time

by CuriousThimble



Series: Fictober 2018 Microfics [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Divergent, F/M, Infant Death, Post-Blight, Pregnancy, Triggers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: Zevran and Tabris meet, and say goodbye, to their son.





	No Worries, We Have Time

**Author's Note:**

> Fictober, Day 7.   
> So today's pretty heavy, I know. Forgive me. Normally I wouldn't give away the plot in the tags, but it's important, and I understand if you bypass this one. I marked it as mature for this very reason.
> 
> Trigger warnings are: Pregnancy, infant death, loss, grief, etc.

Tabris lay on the bed, making jokes as the dealer's hands moved over her stomach. “Warden,” he says flatly and frowns at her. “Your waters have broken, is this the time to be playing?”

 

“I'm sorry, healer,” she snorts and sticks her tongue out at Zevran. “It's his fault, you should make him leave.”

 

The healer's cool magic stops and he steps back. “I think it's rather important that he stays,” he says seriously. 

 

“What is it?” Zevran demands, coming to sit beside her. “What's wrong?”

 

Tabris puts a shaking hand over her rounded belly.  _ No, _ she thinks as the trembling moves to the rest of her. “It's the taint, isn't it?” she whispers.

 

The healer nods solemnly. “I'm afraid so, Warden-Commander.”

 

“What does he mean?” Zevran asks her, looking bewildered.

 

Tabris turns her gaze to her husband, wishing there was anything to say to make her next words better. “Tesoro,” she whispers. “The taint- it has-”

 

His mouth settles into a grim line, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “I see,” he says. 

 

“The babe will likely be born dead,” the healer tells them.

 

“But I feel movement,” she argues. “I can  _ feel _ him moving.”

 

“So long as he is sustained by you, yes, and perhaps a while after. But he will not be able to survive long.”

 

Zevran puts his hand on her belly, hiding his grief. “But he will live until then, yes?”

 

“Yes, Master Arainai.”

 

“Then go,” he says suddenly, making a shooing gesture. “Leave me with my Warden and my son.”

 

The healer’s jaw drops. “But- but the Warden-Commander will give birth soon! Her labor has begun!”

 

“I will handle it,” Zevran says softly, taking Tabris’s hands in his. “I will take care of them.”

 

The healer looks as if he wants to argue, but nods. “I will...inform the king of your decision,” he says. “Call for me once it’s over, and I will arrange things.”

 

***

 

A tiny boy, pale and skinny with white-blonde hair covering his head like down. Ragged little breaths, but no cry of life, no triumph of birth.

  
Zevran holds his wife holding their son, watching the baby sleep. “We should call the healer,” Tabris whispers, her voice thick with tears. It was a difficult labor and knowing that at the end there would be only loss had not made it any easier.

 

“Do not worry,  _ amora _ ,” he murmurs, stroking the baby’s cheek with a finger. “We still have time.”

 

“We should name him,” she adds, tilting her head. 

 

“We could name him Loghain,” he chuckles. “The man who brought us together.”

 

“That’s awful,” she chides, smiling up at him. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

 

“What?” he gasps. “I’m  _ very _ funny, you ask my good friend King Alistair.”

 

“Why not Cyrion, after my father?” she suggests.

 

“A fine name for a fine son,” he croaks as his throat closes. "Cyrion Arainai."


End file.
